The Stork's Mistake
by AG.Prentice
Summary: Short story for the May 2011 Picture Challenge. 1st pic has Michaela with Baby Katie in front of the Clinic, 2nd has Myra, Hank and baby Samantha in the Saloon.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. The rights to those characters and to the show belong to the creators of the show, to CBS and to Beth Sullivan**_

**The Stork's Mistake**

_By Audrey_

One cool evening, the saloon was not its usual boisterous self as Hank had decided to close it for a couple of days. In the other bartender Mark's absence, and being plagued with a stubborn head cold, he had been forced to slow down.

He still had a few customers in the back rooms that he had to trust into the capable hands of his girls, but the bar was empty. Heck! He was feeling so bad that even his best whiskey only made it worse! But his nocturnal lifestyle had impregnate his nature so he could not possibly close his eyes, let alone rest. In his restlessness, he kicked around a stray spittoon. The noise was most annoying to some animal outside for it cried loudly. Wait! That was no animal! It sounded like… a baby!

Totally baffled, Hank cast a glance outside. He spotted the kid immediately, as it was still crying, trashing its little legs and arms around. At a loss for what to do, Hank looked around for any sign of somebody who could have forgotten their kid under the saloon porch. Could it be Jake, playing another of his silly tricks? Nope, he knew the barber too well. Besides, where would he have found the baby?

The only person who could come to his "rescue" was presently right across the street. He picked up the basket with the baby, who quieted immediately upon seeing the long-haired, bearded stranger. Not only that, but the baby smiled widely to the man. Hank felt a soft flutter in his stomach, like the one he had felt when he had held tiny Samantha for the first time.

He would never admit aloud to anyone that he had a soft spot for babies, that a tiny part of him longed for a normal family life, coming home every night to his wife cooking supper, and a bunch of kids jumping around him... He shoved his wishful imaginations out of his mind, as he was deeply convinced that a normal life was not in the cards for him. What happened with Clarice and Zach was proof enough of that.

Without further ado, he headed for the clinic.

* * *

><p>Michaela was stuck at the Clinic for the night with one of Brian's classmates, little Elijah Thompson, who had suffered from a mild case of appendicitis. She had removed the infected appendage easily and was now waiting for the patient to come around.<p>

Sully had gone home with Brian and Colleen, after she had insisted they should not wait for her. Now she felt very much alone. With Sully, they had recently decided to try for a baby, and time was of the essence: she was already thirty-seven, and not getting any younger!...

She sat down at her desk, flipped idly through an old medical journal, trying hard not to think of her husband in an intimate way. Then she heard it: a soft whimper. She strained her ears, wondering whether her longings were playing tricks on her. Everything was calm; the street was oddly quiet, as a matter of fact. Could she have mistaken the meowing of a stray cat for a baby's cry?... there it was again!

Her heartbeat suddenly accelerating, she opened the door and jumped in surprised as her face came within an inch of Hank's fist, poised to knock.

"Evenin', Michaela."

"Hank? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't fret on me… er, found this under the porch." He handed her the bassinet. Michaela peeked inside and could not help but smile as the tiny creature in the bassinet looked up at her with wide, inquisitive dark eyes. Michaela's grin grew wider as she noticed that the baby was obviously a little girl.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothin', I'm tellin' ya, just found the kid on my doorstep. Figured ya'd know who it belongs to…"

"Well, no, I don't remember seeing this child before… Are you sure the baby is not yours?"

Hank had expected the good doctor to ask this, he had prepared his answer, but chose instead a shorter one: it was time for him to get back to the warmth of his saloon.

"I'm *sure*," he stressed out heavily, looking at her squarely in the eye, hoping she would not press the matter. When she did not, he realized she got the message, and turned around without another word, leaving behind a dumbfounded Michaela, the bassinet thrust into her arms.

For a few seconds, Michaela could only stand there, at a loss for what to say or to do. Finally, she put the bassinet on the waiting bench, and all she could do was to reach for the infant and cuddle her to her bosom: how she longed for a baby on her own, for Sully's child!

For a few precious seconds, she did not care whose baby it was, nor why it had been abandoned at the clinic doorstep, as she bonded with the child, enjoyed the moment to its fullest. She stroked the soft, rosy cheek, eliciting a tiny smile on the baby's lips. But reality beckoned to her when she heard her patient groan loudly. She carefully put the baby back in her bassinet, took hold of its handles and went back inside: she would not let a helpless child out there if she could help it! Once she had made sure Elijah was doing well, she would worry about finding the person who had left their child behind.

She was loath to leave the baby alone in her office while she was tending to her young patient, yet her doctor's instinct told her the infant could carry germs that could put her patient's recovery in jeopardy.

Reluctantly, she cleaned her hands thoroughly, then went to the downstairs recovery room where the boy was resting, checked the dressing for any sign of infection. Nothing: by the look of it, the scar would be minimal. She smiled reassuringly at the little boy who was drifting off again. His mother was asleep in the armchair, so exhausted that she had not even stirred when her son had come around. But Michaela could not blame her. The Thompsons were a large, hard-working but very poor family, and something as harmless as a catarrh was calamitous to them.

A notion then struck her: could the baby girl belong to the Thompsons? She quickly dismissed the idea: the baby wore a lacy bonnet, what little money the Thompsons managed to scrape together could not be spent on something as expensive.

In her office, she lifted the baby out of her bassinet again, and examined her closely, looking for any clue that might indicate her identity. The infant obviously came from a rather well-off family, for she was quite chubby, dressed comfortably with clothes of the finest quality. As far as she knew, she was probably the only one who could afford such attire in all Colorado Springs.

"Where do you come from, Sweetheart, hmm?" she cooed softly. This was quite mysterious, indeed. She checked the bassinet for other clues. The small blanket was hand knitted, the cotton linen a pure, clean white. Then she found another clue: a small rattle, with a name on it, Fiona. But no envelope, no message, nothing that would tell her who the baby's parents were.

"So your name is Fiona, little one. That's Irish, isn't it? You know what? I'm Irish too," she crooned, patting the baby's tummy. She rose from her crouching position, the baby in her arms. _Will it be like that_, she wondered, _when we have our baby?_ She could see herself, clear as day, handing a tiny human being to her husband, telling him: "this is your daughter."

An imperious knock distracted her from her daydreaming. Still cradling the baby, she opened the door. There was a well-dressed couple, flanked by a guilty-looking little boy. That was when she finally identified them: the O'Connells had moved in a few weeks before her wedding, and their six-year-old son Aidan had already made himself known as quite the mischief maker around town. And she guessed easily that leaving his little sister on the saloon porch was his idea of a very funny joke. The parents only confirmed her suspicions.

Michaela handed back the baby to her mother, trying her best to ignore the twinge of longing that was tugging at her heart. Before the O'Connells departed, she knelt down to Aidan's level and, with a winning smile she told the little boy: "Next time you imagine you're the stork, don't "deliver" your little sister, all right?" Aidan could not help but giggle at this.

"Has the stork come yet for you?" he asked innocently.

"Not yet," she answered a trifle sadly. _But maybe, one day_… she hoped…

**The End**


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